


The Children Are the Future (And We're Screwed)

by jukeboxhound



Series: Cloud Strife & the Order of the Chocobo [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fusion, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukeboxhound/pseuds/jukeboxhound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has different styles of teaching -- some better than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Children Are the Future (And We're Screwed)

**Author's Note:**

> Not all of the scenes take place at the same time during the school year, but it doesn't make much of a difference.

…

_**1\. Professor Tifa Lockhart: Defense Against the Dark Arts (Classroom 12, Third Floor)** _

"What is someone's greatest weapon?" Tifa asked her fourth-year Defense class.

"Their knowledge?" volunteered a Ravenclaw.

"Their wand?" said a Gryffindor.

"Their fists?" said another Gryffindor.

"Good guesses, but no." She paused for effect, standing tall in front of her desk with her feet shoulder-width apart and her hands clasped behind her back. "A person's greatest weapon is their _common sense_ , which unfortunately tends to be the dullest blade in a wizard's armory."

"But magic," a Ravenclaw protested.

" _Common sense."_ The next pause was one of bafflement as the students exchanged looks. "Jenkins," she said abruptly, singling out a Gryffindor, "let's say you hear about a Dark artifact hidden in the dungeons."

"Probably a Slytherin," came a low mutter from the back of the classroom.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Burke. Jenkins, while you're looking for the artifact, you come across a locked door. What do you do?"

"Use _alohamora?"_

"Nothing happens. Anyone else?"

" _Reducto?"_ tried another Gryffindor. Tifa took a few seconds to despair over her own House.

"Nothing happens, except that your curse gets rebounded at your head and you have to hope you dodge in time. Now what?"

"Check for traps?" a Ravenclaw said tentatively.

"Five points to Ravenclaw. There are a number of wards and traps that can be placed on locks that'll cause varying levels of damage to someone who isn't careful. Say that you're able to break any enchantments protecting the lock and door. Now what?"

"Try _alohamora?_ Maybe it'll work without traps, _"_ said Jenkins defensively. "You didn't _say_ there were traps."

"That's because most people don't hang up signs warning you about the traps they've set." Tifa realized she'd somehow managed to pick up Sephiroth's droll tone and scowled. "So you've dismantled the traps and found that _alohamora_ and _reducto_ don't work."

"Why wouldn't they work?" someone demanded. Tifa wondered why this was such a hard concept for witches and wizards to grasp. Even Cloud, a muggleborn like her from the same small village, sometimes got caught in some kind of mental loop that made him drag his idiocy around behind him. Sephiroth's influence, no doubt.

"There are different types of wood or stone that can resist certain kinds of magic, or which can be charmed to be resistant without clashing with traps and wards. Please note that I don't assign reading in the textbook purely out of sadism." She was not, after all, Professor Rhapsodos. "Now what?"

The students exchanged looks again. Tifa was tempted to assign everyone detention in sheer frustration when one of the Gryffindors, who happened to be muggleborn herself, ventured, "Try the doorknob?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor _,_ Miss Phan. Yes, your greatest weapon is not being stupid. I'm relieved to know that at least one of you isn't going to die."

…

_**2\. Professor Cloud Strife: Care of Magical Creatures (Hogwarts Grounds)** _

"And these," said Cloud, "are cactuars."

His sixth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all tilted their heads at once. "I thought this was Care of Magical Creatures," said a Hufflepuff.

Cloud ran a critical eye over the large cage, which had bars spaced close together so that the three small cactuars couldn't take off like a pack of sneaky-steps were biting their asses. "It is," he said with some confusion.

"But aren't they plants?"

"Yes."

"So…shouldn't Professor Fair be talking about them?"

"No."

The students watched him like they were waiting for something. One of the cactuars squealed. When it finally clicked, Cloud sighed. "These are _magical_ creatures, Mr. Stevenson. They are perfectly capable of being classified as both creature and plant."

"I heard they're dangerous," said a Ravenclaw, and Cloud smiled a little and beckoned the class closer. The students shuffled forward slowly.

"They can be if you're not careful, which is why only the NEWT-level classes are seeing them." Cloud wasn't very tall already, but he kneeled down beside the cage anyway as though he regularly hung out with creatures that could shoot a thousand needles in point-three seconds. The collective aura of nervousness relaxed a little. "It's okay, there's a ward around the cage that'll keep them inside that Professors Fair, Crescent, and myself cast together. I won't let them hurt you."

The same Ravenclaw snorted, but Cloud just kept up that little half-smile and patted the bars of the cage, carefully pretending not to notice when that Ravenclaw leaned in with growing interest.

"Now, the first thing you should know about cactuars is that they're _fast_ little buggers…"

…

_**3\. Professor Fair: Herbology (Greenhouse Three)** _

If asked, Zack would've said that if he ever became a Hogwarts professor it would've been as either the Defense teacher or the Quidditch coach. Transfiguration, maybe, given that he'd mastered his Animagus form before he'd even graduated Hogwarts. He still wasn't entirely sure how the end of the day found him with dirt up to his elbows, the reek of yellow pitcher plants clinging in his nose, and the satisfaction of getting down and dirty outside, but it was better than spending the day solving math problems behind a desk like Sephiroth. He maintained that spending the day solving math problems behind a desk was going to put Sephiroth through another breakdown, but did the asshole listen? Of course not. Not even when Zack enlisted the persuasive powers of Cloud's cock.

"You're asking me to win one of your arguments with Sephiroth using sex," Cloud had said incredulously. "You're whoring me out to make a point."

"Well, yeah," Zack had replied, and when Cloud stormed out of Zack's office, Zack leaned out the doorway and yelled, "It's not like you're not sleeping with him anyway!"

When he belatedly noticed the students in the corridor staring at them, he realized that probably hadn't been the best way to win Cloud over to his side.

But that was then, and this was today, and today would actually be interesting. "These are pitcher plants," he announced. The current curriculum focused on carnivorous plants and how not to get eaten. "We're going to be replanting them into individual pots for shipment. They eat meat, so don't stick your hand in them."

"How do they do that?" a Gryffindor asked, more curious than scared, which was why Gryffindor was Zack's favorite House.

"The flower's shaped like a pitcher because the bottom is filled with this nectar that smells amazing. Insects, birds, and small animals like the smell, figure it's dessert, and by the time they're halfway down and realize it's the smell of digestive enzymes, their furry little bodies are already juice."

Even the Gryffindors took a step back from the long, low bed of pitcher plants.

"Does the headmaster know about this?" a Slytherin asked.

"Of course," Zack lied, although the only reason Rufus was likely to care if a student died a horribly painful death was because of the liability insurance premium. "Fortunately, these babies live in tropical climates like the Ancient Forest near Cosmo Canyon. Our place is a bit too cold and dry."

"What about Gongaga?" the same Slytherin asked, more sly than innocent, which was why Slytherin was Zack's most _annoying_ House.

"Gongaga doesn't have pitcher plants. Besides, it would be illegalto have them there if they were." Zack hurried on before the kids could ask anything about that. " _Anyway_ , they aren't poisonous, don't scream, and won't try to shoot a vine between your ribs, so as long as you're careful not to stick anything fleshy inside, they can't hurt you.

"So, who wants to go first?"

He kept grinning at the line of students until one of the Gryffindors broke first. "I—I will, Professor."

"Good man."

…

_**5\. Professor Sephiroth Crescent: Arithmancy (East Tower)** _

"Matter may manifest as a wavelength. A cat, for example, has a wavelength of approximately ten-thousand years. This means that if we are able to derive the corresponding coordinates on either side of any given point in time, namely by using the model of the quadratic formula as explained in chapter five, we can predict primary future events on the basis of past events in relation to our given present point with greater certainty than any other form of divination." Sephiroth gestured at the blackboard with his wand, pointing out three points demarcated on a horizontal line, the two on either end connected by the elegant curve of a sine wave. One end was labeled _praeteritum_ , the other as _futurum_ , and the middle point as _praesens_.

"Even accepting the theory of infinite universes, which may contain an infinite number of possibilities _as a whole_ , our _individual_ universe does not possess that level of flexibility. Our chronology, as we perceive it, is plural, but not infinite. Can anyone explain the implications of this in regards to the quadratic formula?"

Even his Ravenclaws' eyes looked glazed, as though the overlapping sine and cosine waves currently sparkling on the blackboard was a bright light and the students were moths.

"The implications," Sephiroth said patiently, "is that the limited number of possibilities must share certain fixed points. Without the room for infinity, there are only so many possible combinations of factors in a given set, which in this case is our universe. This is why people who have attempted to change the past end up causing or reinforcing the very events they were attempting to change. If the x-axis is a linear chronology and the waves are the flux of matter along that timeline, and if we can determine when the wave of a particular form crosses the x-axis, we should be able to know exactly when and how that matter manifests in our timeline with far greater precision than if we used tea leaves."

After a moment, a Ravenclaw raised her hand. "Professor, will this be on the exam?"

"Would we be addressing this matter if it wasn't?"

There was a flurry of rustling pages as students flipped through their textbooks. He hadn't actually answered that Ravenclaw's question, but if no one noticed…well. They should have been paying attention, shouldn't they?

…

_**4\. Professor Vincent Valentine: Potions (Classroom 12, Dungeons)** _

"I will teach you to brew death and stopper glory," Vincent said softly. Half the first-year students were terrified while the other half were distracted by the way Vincent's blood-red cloak seemed to shift in a mysterious wind rolling along the floor.

Vincent stopped in front of a Slytherin's desk and rested the tips of his claws against its surface. The first-year let out a _meep_. "Miss O'Seachnasaigh, what is an ether?"

"Um," she stuttered, "it's, um, it's a potion that takes away all your tiredness?"

Vincent gazed at her, eyes half-lidded, until she _meeped_ again, then said, "Not very specific, but technically correct. Two points to Slytherin."

Her eyes got so wide Vincent was reminded of a grangalan he'd once hunted near Costa del Sol. He glided on until he reached a Gryffindor, who was sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed and a mulish expression on his face. Vincent's claws, glinting with a dull brassiness in the torchlight, left the sound of thin, dry scraping drifting through the air. "Mr. Campbell, what is a Remedy?"

"It gets rid of curses," the student muttered.

"Also not very specific, but also technically correct. Two points to Gryffindor."

Judging from the way the student straightened up and blinked, the upper-year Gryffindors had already been spreading tales about the Head of Slytherin House. He idly wondered what kinds of rumors Yuffie would be collecting during the first week of term before gleefully ambushing his office to share them.

"S-sir," the student managed.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, then swept back to the front of the class. "My name is Professor Valentine. I am the Head of Slytherin House, and I am the school's Potions Master. House rivalries are to be left outside the door and far away from a room full of materials that, in the right combination, could bring down the castle and possibly the surrounding countryside. One must set aside their personal demons when the alternative means putting yourself and others at risk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" they chorused.

His eyes roved around the room again, no longer bothered by the number of children who couldn't meet their blood-red shine after years of being forced to tolerate it.

"Very well. Please take out your quills and parchment. We will begin the basics by categorizing potion types."

"Yes, sir!"

…

_**6\. Professor Yuffie Kisaragi: History of Magic (Classroom 4, Fourth Floor)** _

"Louder!" Yuffie cried. "C'mon, Twinkle-toes, you're at war! Is your House symbol a lion or not?"

" _Rawr!"_ roared a frazzled third-year.

"There you go!" Yuffie leapt onto her desk, surveying her classroom like a veteran general in the fog of war. All the desks had been pushed against the back wall and the students divided by their House against each wall, Gryffindor to the right and Slytherin to the left. If she ended up encouraging tension between the Houses, it definitely wasn't because the resulting shenanigans were hilarious. "After the battle raged for three days and there was a lull, Grazzlebag of the Northern Goblins ordered every one of his warriors to the front and said, 'On this day, we live and die for freedom! Let it never be said that we went meekly into the night!'"

"Professor, I didn't think goblins talked like that," a Slytherin interrupted.

"You shouldn't mutter like that, kid, I can't hear you. Gryffindor! Your grand leader has called you to the front lines to live and die for your people! Show me some _spirit!"_

The Gryffindors let out battle-cries of varying levels of enthusiasm.

"Slytherin! These goblins are threatening the balance of wizarding society! Are you going to lie down and take it?"

Judging from the Slytherins' expressions, yes, yes they would, because they obviously didn't appreciate Yuffie's attempts to prevent their little wee brains from getting rotten with the boring, and because Slytherins would cut off their own noses to spite their little wee faces. Merlin, they were so much fun to fuck with.

"It's a good thing the magical folk of 1592 weren't so dumb. The Dark Lord stood tall against the goblin line – "

"Why would a Dark Lord _protect_ anyone?" argued – who else – a Gryffindor.

"Well, because one, if everyone died then they wouldn't have anyone to boss around, and two, because not all Dark Lords are buttholes, or did you think Light Lords couldn't go mad with power too?"

"But they're _Light_ Lords!"

"Uh, yeah, I said that, Twinkle-toes, keep up. I certainly wouldn't want to meet the Light Lord of Cocoon who, in 1254, locked everyone in their rooms without dessert to keep them safe from one another. Of course, some people starved to death, but what're you gonna do, right? I bet he had the _best_ treasures," she finished thoughtfully.

"Professor? Professor Kisaragi? Are you okay? You, uh, kinda drifted off there."

Yuffie waved a hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, quit your bleating. All right, your homework is to…" She glanced around the room for inspiration. "To write an epic poem about the Goblin War of 1592. Whoever's got the coolest one wins something special and awesome."

If the students looked like they were plotting ways to write the worst possible poem ever, whatever. Their loss.

…

_**7\. Professor Barret Wallace: Transfiguration (Classroom 9, Second Floor)** _

Barret watched his fourth-years tromp in and grumbled to himself. The students gave the plastic straws on the desks odd glances.

"Today, we're gonna Transfigure straws into knives. If you stab each other, I'll stab you back." Then he remembered some of the things Aeris had had to say to him last week and amended, "Or you'll just have detention for a week."

"Professor?" said a Ravenclaw, which fucking _sucked_ , because Ravenclaws were always too busy reading the directions to actually do anything useful. "We turned shoelaces into garrotes last week. Why do we need knives, too?"

"You never know when someone's gonna come at you, do you? Or someone you care about?"

"But Professor, this isn't Defense," protested another Ravenclaw. "We're not going to go into battle _every day."_

Thank _Merlin_ Barret wasn't their Head of House. Sephiroth deserved the little fuckers. "You're not gonna use Potions every day, but you still go to class for it, don't you? Knowing how many damn Goblin Wars happened in the last five hundred years ain't gonna mean shit when the man is trying to bring you down, is it?"

"'The man'?" a student that Barret knew was a pureblood whispered to another. He snorted. The little fuckers would learn how fucked their government was soon enough.

"The incantation is _cultellus_. Move your wand diagonally across your chest real fast."

The students obediently chanted a cacophonous _cultellus_ and slashed their wands. A few straws rolled off the desks. Others looked particularly pointy at one end. One had at least turned half-steel, half-wood. Barret walked up and down the rows, trying hard not to see how some of the students cowered a little when his bulky shadow passed over them.

By the time the bell rang, three students – two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff – had managed somethings that looked _mostly_ like knives, even if one of them still had red stripes. Before he could push them out of his classroom, the smallest student piped up, "Professor, could we see? Please?"

"It ain't a party favor, kid."

"Please?"

"…Damn it. Fine." Fuck, he was such a fucking sap. Barret walked back to the front of the classroom, held out his right arm, and said gruffly, " _Telum brachium!"_

The metal that made up his right hand and forearm rippled and expanded, six pistol chambers and a barrel sprouting like claws into a gun that could – and had – taken down a rearing hippogriff. Instead of running out screaming, however, the kids crowded close, poking at it like they thought it was an illusion even though they'd seen it several times before. The little fuckers didn't show a shred of fear, just like his little princess, and he huffed to cover the warm, fuzzy feeling in his very manly chest.

…

_**8\. Professor Genesis Rhapsodos: Ancient Runes (West Tower)** _

The class was completely silent as Genesis prowled around it, enjoying the way several students tensed up when he walked along the back of the room behind them.

"These stories are the medium through which the past speaks to us," he murmured. "They are whispers reminding us of the grace and beauty lying behind the vulgarity of our existence, visible only to those who care to look into their essence."

A student tittered. Genesis silently came up behind him and leaned down towards the student's ear. "Do you find something amusing, Mr. Garcia?"

The student shrieked, jumping hard enough to smack his knees against the underside of the desk and send his quill and inkwell tumbling off. The inkwell smashed against the stone floor, splashing ink all over the boy's shoes and a good portion of the floor. A few drops landed on the hem of Genesis' robes.

The quiet of the classroom graduated to a deathly silence.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Mr. Garcia, and detention tonight to clean up your mess."

"Y-yes, sir," the student whispered.

Genesis flicked his wand, Vanishing the ink on his robes, and sauntered back towards the front of the classroom. "You can see how our world is a stage of mistakes and tragedies. 'My friend, the fates are cruel.'" He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms. "Professor Crescent believes that his mathematics can reveal the truth of our world, but what he doesn't realize is that the truth has _already_ been revealed. 'The arrow has left the bow of the goddess.'"

It was easy to separate the purebloods from the mudbloods. They had a certain mien built on the foundations of knowing who they were and where they came from; they had a cultural legacy of songs, stories, and dances, of magics that were never lost but _transformed_. They had never woken up one day to the revelation that everything they believed themselves to be had been a lie.

Genesis abruptly straightened and turned towards the blackboard. "Before you is Act IV of one of the greatest stories in our history." He flicked his wand, and the words that had carved themselves so deeply into his bones – literally – flowed over the board in lines of frost. "You will write me a four-foot essay in which you provide a translation _you do yourself_ , plus an analysis over the linguistic ambiguities of some of those words and how that impacts interpretation."

He could practically taste their dismay, but he had trained them well enough that no one dared to make a sound.

…

_**9\. Professor Nanaki: Astronomy (Astronomy Tower)** _

Nanaki watched Hufflepuff/Gryffindor fifth-years file into the round tower, shivering a little in the cold wind that blew through the open ceiling and grand archways that had no glass. The wind ruffled his fur pleasantly, sent the tiny bells in his clip tinkling. Cloud had been the one to bring back the glass beads and delicate bells from one of his forays into the Forbidden Forest. Nanaki was quite pleased with them.

"Is everyone here?" he rumbled, dismissing the subtle flinches that humans rarely managed to hide when they saw a beast that could speak.

"No, Professor," said a Hufflepuff, one of the few students who could meet Nanaki's eyes with perfect steadiness. "Smith, Porter, and Merrill decided to skive off."

"Thank you, Mr. Canadien."

When one of his classmates hissed, "Tattle-tale," Canadien just shrugged.

"Five points to Hufflepuff for honesty. Three points from Hufflepuff for immaturity," Nanaki said mildly. "Now, tonight we're going to see both Jupiter and Venus, and we'll be discussing how their energies affect the flow of our planet's leylines when they cross."

The center of the classroom was dominated by a telescope that could have been taken straight out of a muggle observatory if not for its lenses, made not just of glass but also quartz, obsidian, the retinas from both an Antipodean Opaleye and a blue dragon, melded demiguise hair, and light from the dark side of the sun caught in crystal. Some of them had been the invention of Grandfather. A few had been Nanaki's own contributions.

"The telescope has already been positioned." He pressed a series of buttons, larger than usual to accommodate his paws, on the telescope's primary panel, and a reflection from the telescope's eye popped up like a muggle television screen. Another one of his inventions, cutting down significantly on the time once wasted on students having to look through the eyepiece one by one. Tamping down the flame on his tail as much as possible to keep its glow from interfering, he nodded at the left side of the image. "Jupiter is known for its size, which creates a gravitational field of immense power."

"Gravity's a _muggle_ idea," a student interrupted.

"Because, of course, the universal laws of physics are subject to human prejudices."

The student flushed, but the class finished without incident, and as the students filed out of the tower into the warmth of the castle, the Hufflepuff student turned back and said, _"Ó:nen."_

Nanaki's tail flickered a little more brightly as he replied, _"Um ason piw a'ni."_

…

_**10.** _ _**Turk** _ _**Professor Reno (?): Muggle Studies (Classroom 8, Second Floor)** _

Reno sauntered into his classroom and paused with a foot in the air when he saw the students sitting at their desks. "What are _you_ lot doing here?" he asked.

"We have a class now?" replied one of the brats with a questioning lilt – a Slytherin, right, right, that's what the green tie was for. Right?

"Shit," Reno said. "Okay. Today we're going to talk about…wait, how old are you?"

Most responded with 'twelve,' a few late bloomers with 'thirteen.' Second-years. Okay. Probably shouldn't talk about _that,_ then. "Who here knows what a microwave is?"

Two hands out of fourteen waved in the air.

"You." Reno gestured at one of the students, fuck if he knew what her name was. "What's a microwave?"

"It's a kitchen appliance used to heat up food and stuff," she answered smartly.

Eleven other students still looked blank, which meant Reno might have to actually teach something. He patted the pockets of the suit he always wore under unbuttoned robes and crowed with triumph when he found his wand sticking out of his back pocket. He waved it and a wobbly, slightly melted image of a microwave hovered precariously in the air. Eh. It wasn't like Rufus had hired him for his skills in _magic_.

"See the plug in the back? You stick in the wall to get the electricity – you lot remember electricity, right, we talked about it a couple weeks ago – "

"Three months ago," piped up one of the brats.

"That's what I said, kid, try listening with your ears, yo. So you put food inside the box, and the electricity heats up whatever's inside that makes heat, and then your food is hot. Questions?"

Someone raised his hand.

"No questions? Cool. Class dismissed."

"But Professor – "

Reno rubbed his temple and swore to figure out how Rude and Elena always won their rock-paper-'who has to teach today'-scissors contests.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ó:nen" = Mohawk, "goodbye"; "Um ason piw a'ni" = Hopi, "goodbye" (to someone departing). If either of these are wrong, please let me know and I'll correct it immediately.
> 
> For notes on the above, as well as the fic itself, check out [this post](http://jukeboxhound.tumblr.com/post/127298891664/fic-the-children-are-the-future-and-were).


End file.
